Free Heat Up the Night by Skylar Kade Page B

face.
    Fuck. Tears built behind her eyes. “Rachel, I am on my way.” It would take ten, maybe twenty minutes to get over there. Cabs were dime a dozen on Keilor’s street, and at this hour, traffic should be light. “Book your flight home, I don’t care how much it costs, just put it on my credit card.” She winced at the added cost to her balance, but prioritized. Tovia had made Rachel an authorized user for emergencies, and this certainly counted. She’d simply need to eat a few more home-cooked dinners for the next, oh, four months.
    “Oh…okay. I put my plane ticket here on it too.”
    Okay, eight months. She pushed back at her anger. Yes, Rachel had a job on campus but she’d needed to fly out here in the first place because of Tovia’s irresponsibility. That felt better—guilt was so much more appropriate than anger.
    She grabbed her purse and flew from the apartment, taking the stairs down to ground level. She ruthlessly ignored the hurt that Keilor had left before he talked to her. She could be disappointed in him—and in her shitty loose-lipped relationship faux pas—later.
    While she hailed a cab and instructed Rachel to head back to their mother’s room once she had her flight information, Tovia pulled her wallet from her back pocket and snagged a twenty, not wanting a single thing slowing her from reaching the hospital.
    A yellow taxi pulled up to the curb as she hung up with Rachel. Tovia hopped in the backseat. “Spring Valley Hospital. And please, for the love of God, avoid the Strip.”
    As the cab wove through the side streets, she stared out the window and tried to ignore the too-cheerful video that played on a backseat screen. Hotelier Irving Carraway welcomed tourists to his fair city, enumerating the amenities at his various hotels. When he mentioned “celebrity chef Keilor Branson,” her heart stopped.
    For the rest of the ride, she did her best to clear her head, employing all the deep breathing and meditation tricks she’d tried to learn. Nothing worked like she needed and after seeing what Master Keilor could do for her, she doubted anything else would ever be enough relief.

Chapter 13
    With sweat beading down his back and glistening on his scalp, Keilor knew he didn’t exactly cut a romantic picture, but after his moment of clarity, he refused to wait another minute. He’d made Tovia promise to be truthful to him during their scenes and out. She deserved no less than equal treatment, even when the timing sucked and the stakes towered high. His thighs burned as he took the stairs two at a time, not wanting to wait for the elevator, and jogged down to the end of the hall.
    At his door, he stopped to catch his breath, tugging off his T-shirt and using it to swipe at his face. Being shirtless couldn’t hurt his chances, could it? If it would tilt things in his favor, he’d use any trick in the book at this point. Keilor turned the knob and stepped into his apartment, letting the door swing shut behind him. Halfway to the bedroom, he paused. It was too still. The hum of his refrigerator filled the space, but that was it. No rustle of sheets or deep, dreamy breaths.
    Foreboding weighed down his feet as he paced across the main room, noting the counter and Tovia’s absent purse. He took stock of the room: no cell phone on her bedside table. No clothes on the dresser. No shower running.
    He’d fucked this one up but good.
    Sinking onto his side of the bed, he gripped his head in his hands and took deep breaths. As soon as he could think past the blood roaring in his ears, he’d make this right, somehow.
    Once he’d pulled himself together for the second time that day, he searched the condo for a note but found no trace of her in the whole place, save for her lingering scent on one pillow. No text messages or phone calls either. The pieces inside him, the ones he’d haphazardly shoved back into place, gaped at the edges and tore at his insides.
    He sent her a text. Where are